


release your hold and i'll set you free

by japanrry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Air Force, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Humor, Historical References, M/M, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Prisoner of War, Soldiers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:07:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japanrry/pseuds/japanrry
Summary: He wasn’t ready to die. Everything began to hit him like a brick wall--he was going to crash, be a disgrace to his country. Harry was going to meet his demise with Louis in the seat above humming Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.a 1940's wwii au loosely inspired by 'catch-22' in which they're all a part of the royal air force, louis sings american wartime hits in the midst of life or death situations, harry only enlisted so he wouldn't be separated from his best friend but finds out everyone is crazy, and things take a turn none of them could have ever expected
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	release your hold and i'll set you free

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to anyone reading this! this is my first fic i'm ever publishing here, so i really hope people enjoy it and apologize for any mistakes. this is very loosely inspired by the book/hulu show 'catch-22' and the true story of the klb club. 
> 
> please don't hesitate to comment any critiques or suggestions, it's welcomed and greatly appreciated!!
> 
> this is only a one-shot for now, but i hope to expand it in the future (no promises though!!!!)
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> title from 'straighten up and fly right' by nat king cole

**i.**

“You ready, old man?” Louis teased, slapping Harry on the back with such force he almost fell over.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered impatiently. “I’ll need a fix after this.”

“A fix! You’ve been spending time with the Americans, I see! Hazzy suddenly turns sixteen, boy thinks he’s a _man_ now.”

“Ah, shove off!” Harry grouched. “And don’t say that so loud; they won’t let me in if I’m underage.”

Louis chuckled, “I forgot, ‘suddenly turns _eighteen_.’ Must’ve just slipped my mind.”

Harry shook his head angrily, moving forward in the line of young men. The room was packed with people talking loudly, spirits unusually high considering what they were signing up to do. Behind him, Louis was deep in conversation with a boy about their age who was missing an eye. Surely they wouldn’t let him enlist, but Harry didn’t think he should be the one to tell him. Louis definitely wouldn’t.

“Harry Styles?” the man before him called.

“Y-yes, sir, that’s me!” Harry said quickly, holding out his documents.

“Eighteen, eh?”

“Yes?” he responded nervously, thinking that was definitely it.

Louis was too loud. He would get caught and sent home, forced to watch as his best friend was sent off to fight in the war while he sat at home, miserably waiting for his return. Harry knew his decision to not only enlist but to _lie_ was beyond foolish. It wasn’t out of love for his country, far from it. It was just-- he and Louis had never been separated in their lives. They’d been best friends since before he could remember, and Louis was eighteen now, so he was already going to serve whether he liked or not. 

Harry wasn’t going to let him go alone.

“Ay, happy birthday! I see no complications. You just wait for the doctor, then. Louis Tomlinson?”

Harry sighed in relief, taking back his forms from the registrar. By god, if only Louis could keep his goddamn mouth shut. Always talking, that boy. Harry stepped to the side as his best friend handed over his own papers, engaging in small talk with the man because, god-forbid, he went a minute without kissing arse. 

Someone behind the boys scoffed loudly. Harry turned to face him. He looked to be a couple years Louis and Harry’s senior, possibly in his mid-20s, but the worry lines and dirt marks on his face made him look even older. His demeanor certainly did not match the vibrant energy in the room Harry had noted before. 

“Don’t be getting all excited, nothing to look forward to other than training for your death,” the man told them, placing a steely hand on Harry’s shoulder as Louis finished registering. 

Harry eyed it nervously, not wanting to see what would happen if he shoved the man off in the middle of his vent. He didn’t seem very stable at that moment, and Harry would prefer to save the fighting for the war itself. Louis glared at the man but, smartly, made no move to enrage him further. 

“Now, sir,” the registrar said cautiously. “That’s not the attitude we want to have when in the midst of a war.”

“Oi, I think that’s exactly the attitude we _need_ to have,” someone else in the crowd of men shouted. 

The tension in the room surmounted, and men began to argue among themselves. Amidst the chaos, Louis pushed the man’s hand off Harry’s shoulder and led him back to the waiting area with a protective arm. They could hear when the first punch was thrown, the already significant volume coming from behind them somehow managing to grow even louder. 

“Brings out the very worst in us, doesn’t it?” Louis mumbled once they finally exited the building.

The frigid February air came as a relief as they found seating below the outdoor canopy, waiting to be called back in to be examined by the doctor. The other men huddled together to keep warm, speaking in hushed tones that contrasted the tumult from inside.

“I suppose it does, doesn’t it, Lou.”

They sat close, his best mate gripping his arm tightly until his name was called nearly an hour later. Louis released his hold, sending Harry a cheeky grin and thumbs up as he was led back for his examination. 

***

Three months had passed since Harry and Lou’s experience at the military recruitment office. Both chose to become a part of the Royal Air Force, hoping it would give them more time to train so that by the time they were finished, the war would be over. Of course, they never admitted so to themselves, let alone to their friends and families. Everyone assumed they just wanted to be together, which was also true, so they never denied it. 

Living on a base was something of a fever dream; none of it felt real to Harry. Very few men on their base were over the age of 25, so Louis liked to joke it was Uni for dropouts, and the overly-masculine types whose maths skills were limited to One Bird plus Another Bird is equal to Fun Night for Fighter Man. Harry had rolled his eyes, but there _was_ some truth to Louis’ joke. 

Other than the higher-ranking officers and officials, everyone was unbearably casual, considering they were all training to die. Men had turned long stretches of open land into footie fields as the weather gradually improved, using scraps from retired jets as goalposts. Everyone looked forward to mealtimes, making friendships with the other officers and betting what slop they’d be fed that day. 

Harry thought they were all insane.

Sighing, he dragged his belongings into a tent with his ID on it. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, it was nothing like his primary school camping trip. There was no playing hide-and-seek among the towering trees, no roasting sausages over the fire while their teacher played classic tunes on his guitar. Instead, there was dust lining every inch of the area, almost masking the questionable red stain in the corner.

“Ay, you seen beaches like this in Cheshire, Hazzy?” Louis said, pointing out the entrance of the tent toward St. Brides Bay, which glittered below the afternoon sun. 

“Cheshire isn’t even on the coast, Tomlinson,” their tent-mate, William, grunted as he shoved his trunk below the musty cot. “You hear how the Americans have a base in bloody Italy? Nothing special about Wales, not even the women. White and dull, just like home.”

William always brought the conversation back to women. 

Harry shrugged, “Nothing special.”

In reality, he was awestruck. He’d never left Cheshire, let alone England. Having lived in a small village up north his entire life, Harry never had the opportunity to visit a beach. Louis’s family took a trip following the last Great War down to Sussex and had come back beyond excited to share what he had seen. While his description was fantastic, it was nothing like seeing it in person for the first time.

The water was a brilliant blue, laced by a cliff coast and white sand beaches. It was almost as if he were on his own luxury vacation, but the putrid stink of the tent and hubbub of officers shouting commands outside brought him back to reality. 

Harry was trapped. 

Beside him, Louis sang quietly under his breath, volume steadily increasing as he moved toward his friend. William groaned, making his escape as he knew what was coming next. Harry feigned irritation, but the quirk of his lips gave him away.

“Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above,” he belted, pulling Harry close. “Don’t! Fence! Me! In!”

***

After seven weeks of basic training followed by another two of flight simulations, the newly-minted pilot officers were _severely_ underprepared. 

Yet, they were getting briefed for their first of ten required missions.

“This isn’t training anymore, lads,” Marshall Cowell warned. “The plan is you go over France. There’ll be some others, so I’ve heard; Australia, Canada, Americans even. You get shot down…”

“Americans, you hear,” Louis whispered, elbowing Harry teasingly. 

“Yes, and you know what I don’t hear? How to not die. Now quiet!”

Of all squadrons, he had to be in the same as Louis. At the time of his enlistment, he would've considered it a blessing. Now? It was a distraction. Not only was Louis the worst influence on Harry since American television, but it added another weight, another _responsibility_ , onto his shoulders. Thinking every moment was his last put him under enough stress.

Sure, the only reason he’d even lied about his age to enlist was only for Louis; the months since that fateful day in February had changed him. Harry would rather die himself or never even see his best friend ever again if it meant he wouldn’t have to watch him die right before his eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do to save him. He knew Louis felt the same but masked it with horribly-timed jokes and bursting into song when things were getting too serious.

“Styles! Tomlinson!” the Marshall barked.

_Now they’ve done it_. The crowd parted, some even pushing the two boys forward. They were ready for a show, and Harry was certain if they could, they’d be whipping out their baggies of popped corn right there. Entertainment was few and far between at the base, and footie tournaments between life-threatening training sessions could only engage them for so long. 90% of their amusement came from watching their fellow officers face punishment.

“Good luck,” one snickered. 

“Yes, sir?” Louis answered innocently with a smirk, though his hands were shaking where only Harry could see them.

Harry shot him a glare. Louis’ mouth would truly be their downfall, considering how much trouble it’s already gotten them in. Everyone knew they were Cowell’s least favorites, even lovely little Harry, who everyone couldn’t help but adore. It was all because of Louis, and Louis and Harry came as a package deal, even in retribution.

“This isn’t the schoolyard; either you listen, or you die! There are no second chances!”

“Yes, sir!” they responded stiffly. 

Once the attention was off them and they’d shifted their way back to the edge of the crowd, Louis elbowed Harry once again.

“Old man let us off easy,” he grinned. 

“This isn’t a _joke_ , Lou. This is war!”

War, what he asked for. What he begged his mum to lie for, knowing there was a chance she would never see her little boy again. 

“Oi, I know! It’s just easier to make a joke than sit and be scared, y’know?”

Harry would never understand, but he just nodded and rested his hand on Louis’s shoulder, returning his focus to Marshall and their unnecessarily complex mission plan that would surely be the end.

***

“Come on now, Curly, you think we have all the time in the world, do you?” Louis shouted over the roar of the plane engine. 

Harry fumbled with his vest, the only thought running through his mind being _we are incredibly unqualified for this._ Miraculously, he was able to secure the straps despite the tremors wracking his body and, more specifically, his poor hands.

“Thank you for your words of support. I’m so privileged to be sharing another near-death experience with you,” Harry muttered to himself sarcastically, climbing into the designated navigator area of the plane. 

Louis laughed obnoxiously loud, pulling himself into the seat above Harry, behind the pilot, somehow managing to hear Harry’s mumblings. With an embarrassed flush, Harry realized their headsets were on, and the rest of their crew heard him as well.

“Ah, what are the odds, my friend! Born together, now we die together!”

“Way to be optimistic, Tomlinson,” a lad from Suffolk, Edward, shouted from outside before climbing into his own plane.

He was nervous, though--they all were. Their division was nearly all volunteers who were young and inexperienced. Harry knew for a fact that more than half were below the legal age, including him. Nobody was ready, yet they’d all decided to value their manhood over their lives. 

Except for Harry, though. He hadn’t done it for glory or pride for his nation. Like most of the terrible decisions he’d made in his nearly seventeen years of life, it was for Louis.

It was always for Louis. 

“This is it, boys,” the Marshall boomed, his voice somehow discernible over the ruckus. “The first mission. It’s been an honor training you. May you do your country proud.”

“I’ll miss the old man, all his charm and wit,” Louis joked. 

“Won’t we all,” their pilot, Liam, murmured as he distractedly messed with the controls. 

“Me as well,” Harry sighed. “I’ll also miss those American television shows, maybe even my father.”

“Ah, I knew you had it in ya, Curly! Nothing more special than a cynical joke before your untimely death. Accompanied by your bestest of friends, of course.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You ready, lads?” Liam asked.

The other two air gunners, Zayn and Niall, whistled in response. Their much older bomb aimer, Nick, having foregone supplying an actual answer, grunted from behind Harry. Liam took that as a yes, and with that, they took off. 

***

“We aren’t gonna make it! She’s going down!” Harry shouted, the panic evident by the quiver in his voice. 

“Why is it a she?”

“Lou!” Nick and Niall screamed in unison, neither in the mood for the boy’s useless commentary as the ground grew closer and closer.

“Ach, well, I’ll be damned if we crash over a _croissant factory!_ You see those planes over there, Jerries?” Louis asked Harry, who had the clearest view.

He looked around frantically, eyes searching for the terrifying insignia of the _Luftwaffe_. All he could pick up was a fair amount of stars and stripes, with the occasional circle he’d only seen in the booklets they’d been given at the beginning of training. While he didn’t recognize it, he’d paid enough attention to know it wasn’t any of their enemies. He let out a relieved sigh, bringing the mic of his headset back up to his mouth.

“No, Americans, Canada possibly,” Harry answered, pacing his breaths. 

He wasn’t ready to die. Everything began to hit him like a brick wall--he was going to crash, be a disgrace to his country. Harry was going to meet his demise with Louis in the seat above humming _Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy._

“Will you shut it, Tommo!” Liam scolded. “Ah, the wing!” 

They began spiraling toward the ground at an alarming speed. Harry’s hands were shaking so violently he imagined any sort of safety measures would be useless. It was the end. Mic still by his mouth, he began hyperventilating, the loudness of his heavy breaths almost matching the ever-present din of the engine.

“Calm yourself, Haz,” Nick hissed over the com. “Zayn, any incoming?”

“Jerry at three o’clock! Li, you think you can keep her up until we’re out of sight?”

“I’ll try my best,” the pilot promised, though they all picked up on the uncertainty in his voice.

Harry took a deep breath in another attempt to steady himself. And again, it was ineffective. 

He was too young. 

***

“Straighten’ up and fly right, straighten’ up and fly right…”

Louis was delirious. 

He’d been singing the same damn song over and over for what seemed like forever. Harry assumed it was a coping method, but it didn’t make it any less a nuisance. They were going to die in France of all places. Harry had an inkling that was Louis’s most significant concern. Louis hated the French. Around them, nearly a dozen other planes had been shot down as well, littering the open field. 

The Jerries were coming.

“You boys alright?” an older gentleman with an unusual accent asked the boys.

“Yes,” Harry answered.

“No,” Louis responded at the same time.

“Well, get up, then, anyways. Unless you lads wanna end up in Ol’ Hitler’s stew.”

“Doesn’t sound very appealing, does it, Hazzy?” Ed mumbled, dusting off his trousers as if it would make a difference. 

“No, Lou, I wouldn’t say it does.”

The other airmen were almost all American, except a few from New Zealand that included the older man, which was the insignia he had been unfamiliar with when in the air and assumed were Canadians. There was also the crew from Edward’s plane. They recognized Stanley, a boy from their training base. Harry waved him down, beckoning him to come their way.

“Oi, Stan! Where’s Ed?” Louis asked.

The boy pursed his lips, and only then did Harry notice the splatter of blood across his cheek and the red stains all across his uniform. The rest of the crew from his plane were in a similar state. Stan and the others had jumped, and Edward wasn’t behind them. 

One down. 

The members of Harry’s plane were visibly upset but didn’t say anything. What could they possibly say? They were warned that not everyone would make it; death was inevitable. In their new lives, that was an important fact to accept. The dead stayed dead, and they were forced to move on unless they wanted to join them. So they did exactly that.

A group of a hundred men wasn’t necessarily inconspicuous, especially in the flatlands of France, but they moved slow. Any sound, from the hum of an oncoming plane to the buzz of a bee, sent Harry’s heart rate soaring.

“Strip off your uniforms, now!” the same gentleman who had helped them up hissed. “They’re too obvious. Throw them in the grass and move! Just a little further, and the boys will get us back to England.”

Harry didn’t know who “the boys” were, but he was eager to find out. If it meant he would get to return home and this nightmare would be over, he was all for it. He hastily removed his jacket and trousers, leaving him in nothing but a green undershirt and his boxers. The rest of the men did the same. 

Louis grinned, “If we’re going to die, at least we’re surrounded by beautiful lads in their bare undies.”

Harry rolled his eyes, too terrified to utter a single word. There was no way they’d be heard from the planes in the sky, but they never knew who could be hiding in the grass, just waiting to make their move. They could be dead in seconds.

“You’ve spent too much time with the boys, Tomlinson. It’s time to get you a girl when we return home,” Stan whispered. 

Harry couldn’t believe they dared to have a conversation in the middle of this, specifically _that_ conversation. Louis had made more than enough jokes about finding men fit as they grew up, but they’d come to learn that not everyone found those jokes funny. Harry often found himself wondering when it stopped being a joke for himself. He also wondered if it was still a joke for Louis.

“Of course. But I have standards- she must be beautiful and in her bare undies.”

***

Seven weeks had passed—seven _wonderful_ , stress-filled weeks hiding out with the French Resistance. Harry, Louis, Stan, and an American boy named Xander who went by Big Man, hid in the farmhouse of an old French couple. They’d learned the signs of a raid, the sound of the metal-toed boots of the Gestapo. They would be going home soon, or so that’s what they’d been told. Sure, they were cramped and barely had enough to eat each day, but things were beginning to luck up. Harry could almost confidently say he had hope of their return.

That was until they were caught. 

The boots had never gotten so close to their hideout--a small hollow beneath a wooden trapdoor concealed by a barrel of hay. Suddenly the block of feed was kicked off the trapdoor with such force that the dirt around them shuddered. Harry clutched Louis’s arm, teeth chattering so loudly he wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard all the way in Berlin. 

“It’ll be alright, Curly,” Louis reassured softly.

He’d just finished speaking when the trapdoor burst open, and the young boys were face-to-face with the barrel of a Gestapo luger gun. 

***

After three days in the cattle car, Fresnes Prison was beginning to seem like it had been heaven on earth. Harry couldn’t believe this was happening to him. It never even crossed his mind that so much could go wrong, yet it did. The idea that they’d be captured on their very first mission was unheard of, so rare that they’d barely been taught what to do should it happen. The mission was supposed to be low-risk, by Giant-War-With-The-Entire-World standards. He’d begun to crave death more than freedom. 

Harry had been beaten, starved, and isolated at Fresnes, but the worst was still yet to come, according to the older men in the car. He hadn’t bothered to listen to the legal aspects, but he did know that he wasn’t supposed to be going where the men were being sent. One-hundred sixty-eight of the allied airmen, or so the older man from New Zealand had told them. Everyone had come to think of him as a leader. 

As per usual, Louis was beside him, passed out. Harry’s stomach begged him for food, but he couldn’t comply. They’d been given two pieces of stale bread and an unusually flavored liquid to last them through the trip. Where they were going, Harry wished he knew. By the looks of the New Zealand fellow’s expression, it wasn’t good.

“Haz,” Louis rasped. “You suppose we’re almost there?”

“Couldn’t tell you, Lou,” he responded quietly, cautiously eyeing the German soldier in the corner.

“Well, I rate this service zero stars. You tell the Major that, will you? Cowell, too.”

“I will as soon as we get home, Lou. Go on back to sleep.”

***

“-this is unacceptable! Under the Geneva Protocol, we are given the right to a trial _and_ a place in a prisoners camp!” the New Zealand man shouted as the airmen were shoved out of the boxcar.

Harry immediately knew there was something wrong. This wasn’t like the prisons for POWs--it was undoubtedly worse. The air stank of death and burning flesh, a scent Harry had been lucky enough to not face until then. Still, he recognized it somehow. It wasn’t a prison; it was somewhere you went to die.

“ _Terroflieger_ don’t get trial,” the German soldier sneered. “ _Kommen!_ ”

A whole cluster of men from six total boxcars, all allied airmen, were bunched together and forced to move toward a building farther in the area. People who looked more like skeletons dressed in striped rags worked silently inside the fence, cheeks hollowed and eyes empty. The longer they walked, the stronger the odor became. Harry’s eyes watered, and he had half a mind to cover his nose, but the German watching him like a hawk discouraged him from doing so. 

“What is this place?” he quietly asked the man next to him when the soldier turned away.

“Hell.”

***

**ii.**

“Hairlessness suits you, Lou,” Harry wheezed out a laugh.

The sound was entirely foreign to Louis; he hadn’t heard a laugh since they’d arrived--no, since they first _enlisted_. He’d learned the place they were being kept was a prisoner camp called Buchenwald. He’d also found out that they didn’t belong there. “They” being the 168 airmen who’d all been captured and sent to this camp. They called themselves the _Konnzetrationslager_ Buchenwald Club. Louis preferred to call them the “Hey, we aren’t dead!” Club. 

Despite being a prisoner camp, no one outside of the airmen was a soldier. Louis had caught sight of a cluster of women, all with their heads shaved just like the men, being led to the “showers,” as the Germans keeping them captive called them. No one returned from the showers. On their second day, Harry rushed to Louis’ side, sobbing so loudly it took ten other men to quiet him down so that they wouldn’t face punishment. Once he was able to calm down, he’d said he saw children. Not like his age of just seventeen, but kids, between the ages of seven and ten, all looking like skin and bones.

No, this wasn’t a POW prison. If the older airmen knew who they were, they didn’t say anything. Louis heard vaguely of innocent civilians being forced by the Nazis into terrible camps back on the base. All conversation was shut down by their superiors. They were told it was just a rumor started by the Reds, but now he wasn’t so sure. He had a sick feeling that they weren’t supposed to know about them because the allies didn’t want to have to worry about these poor people when they had a war to win. Louis’s heart ached for them.

The conditions in the camp were despicable. Men were falling ill by the minute. The New Zealand man had dysentery. So did Harry, though he wouldn’t admit it. When they slept outside and only had one pair of striped trousers, it was undeniable if you were continually shitting yourself. He was supposed to be quarantined on his own, but Louis refused to leave his side, knowing fully well of the risks.

“Just sat in mud is all, right, Harry?” he would joke weakly, hoping to ease the boy’s humiliation.

“You called me Harry, Lou.”

“Oh, so I did? Better off then, I don’t know a single grown man named Hazzy.”

***

The morning Louis woke up without Harry by his side, his whole world collapsed. He immediately broke down in a fit of loud and unrelenting sobs that would surely get him a beating, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Over the previous couple of days, his best friend had grown so sick to the point that he could barely move; what else would they have done besides executing him?

“Tomlinson! Tomlinson, calm yourself!” 

Louis turned to see Niall and Zayn from his plane, yet he was unable to comprehend what was happening. They were saying his name, weren’t they? Yes, they were. They were grabbing his hands and trying to talk, but Louis couldn’t speak, could only cry. Harry, his light, his life, it was gone. 

Sure, lads couldn’t love lads, or so he’d been told. But Louis loved Harry more than anything and anyone in the entire world. The stupid boy had signed up, had lied, just for _his_ sake, and Louis couldn’t save him. 

“He’s not dead! Tommo? Louis? Lou?”

The waves of emotion began to die down, albeit slowly. _What did he just say?_

“He’s not… dead?”

“Infirmary took him while you were asleep. And there’s more news!”

They seemed to be in an uncharacteristically festive mood. Louis couldn’t imagine being happy anymore. Jokes were of no use to him, with Harry barely able to understand words being spoken to him. He only kept up his act to keep Harry calm during the worst of things. Harry was no longer by his side. Louis felt nothing but sadness and anger. He was always angry but was ace at hiding it; why did he train just for it to be of no use in the end? What was the point? There wasn’t a point. _Who’s talking to me now?_

“-convinced the damned Jerry fackers to take us to a POW camp. We leave tomorrow, suppose we’ll have to walk, with those chicken legs of yours I doubt you’ll make it a mile but-”

“What about Harry?” he interrupted, finally able to focus on what his mates were saying.

“I suppose they’ll transfer him when he’s better, now that the Americans know we’re here. I doubt they want to get in even more trouble for not following protocol.”

“Tomorrow, we leave?”

Niall actually smiled, “Yes, Tommo, tomorrow we leave.”

***

“One-hundred fifty-six!” a German soldier called out in accented English as the men prepared to march.

One-hundred fifty-six of the one-hundred sixty-eight men. 

To Louis, they had achieved the impossible--staying alive. By his side were Stan, Niall, Zayn, Liam, and Nick. There was a long road ahead of the young men. How long? Louis wished he knew. They were going to make it, though. They had to. And by the time they reached the new prison where they would be treated like humans rather than dogs, Harry would already be there. He would be healthy, and Louis would be singing his favorite tunes that Harry always claimed annoyed him, but the sparkle in his eyes would be unmistakable.

“‘Heard there’s ten or so left in the infirmaries,” someone behind them said to a friend, piquing Louis’ attention.

“Jeffrey tells me that two have died, one just this morning. Real young one, underage,” the man sighed, shaking his head solemnly. “Didn’t go down without a fight, I bet, never seen Jeff so shaken up. Can’t remember if he’s one of ours or the Brits.”

“God bless his soul. These kids are too young for this.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone old enough for this, buddy.”

Louis’ heart dropped to his stomach, and he nearly collapsed right there. He didn’t know what to make of the man’s words. Was it Harry? He wouldn’t know until he reached the new prison, and he wasn’t sure if he could wait that long. Hopefully, his old friends from the base like Will would save them, and they’d go home, Harry by their side. They’d make the glorious return back to their terribly-boring village of Holmes Chapel with enough stories for their mums and siblings to last a lifetime.

A German soldier shouted something Louis didn’t understand, and the crowd of men began shuffling forward out of the gates of Buchenwald. The two American men who had been talking about possibly Harry marched past him, joined by a new man Louis assumed was Jeffrey. He looked positively traumatized, eyes wide with tears slipping out of them as his friends attempted to console him with soothing words.

If he was out of the infirmary and walking with the rest of them, who was to say Harry wasn’t? Louis couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , wait to find out until they reached the new prison. He had to know right then. He turned to the rest of the boys, who all studied him silently with varying degrees of concern.

“You lot go on ahead,” he told his mates. “I need to wait in the back.”

Niall opened his mouth to protest, but Liam stopped him, sending him a knowing look that Louis didn’t bother to decipher until years later. It was a look of pity; they believed him to have gone crazy. Maybe he had. It didn’t matter.

Alone he waited as men passed by, hoping Harry would place an unnaturally large hand on his shoulder and they’d walk together to freedom. 

**Author's Note:**

> again, thank you so much to anyone actually reading this and critiques + suggestions, or any comments really, are greatly appreciated!
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed. i'm working on a much larger fic i'm hoping to publish soon, so hopefully if you liked this maybe you'll end up liking that too :D
> 
> anyways, for the millionth time (and really not enough but!!!) thank you sooooo much for reading, i really really really appreciate it (:
> 
> [here's the tumblr post!](https://japansrry.tumblr.com/post/644766861353009152/release-your-hold-and-ill-set-you-free-5k-by/)


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